


The League of Gentlemen

by John_Nygma



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Investigations, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, canon inspired, good old detective work, set after Sherlock's return
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Nygma/pseuds/John_Nygma
Summary: Inspired by the canon story "The Red-Headed League". John finds Sherlock bored and without a case to work, but luckily enough Jabez Wilson turns up in 221B and tells them about his family members' mysterious deaths that seem to be connected to three old photographs...





	The League of Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a story I wrote back in the day when I was trying to combine canon elements with the world of the show. Basically I tried to do what the writers of the show applied (mostly) successfully to their stories. It's been a while since I wrote this, but I polished some bits and now it seems readable (at least I hope so...)

John closed the door behind him harder than he had intended to.

“Sorry, Mrs Hudson!” he called into the hallway.

Strangely no older woman hurried out of her flat next to the staircase. No Mrs Hudson who greeted John, even though he would have liked to hear her calming voice and to eat one of her brilliant biscuits.

“Well…” Sighing, John made his way upstairs.

He walked up the seventeen stairs to his old home, back in 221B. He reached the first floor and opened the door. A familiar silence welcomed him and the picture of the skull on the wall greeted him with dark eyes. John let his look wander.

“Sherlock?”

He walked a few steps into the living room, letting the scenery paint a smile of remembrance upon his face. But then there was something else John noticed. He crinkled his nose, turned around and that was when he saw it. At first he observed the black smoke ascending to the ceiling. It came through the slit of the closed kitchen door, behind its frosted glass front side he could see a strange flickering red and orange light.

_“Fire,”_ John thought immediately and right after that, _“Oh god, Sherlock!”_

He rushed forward and threw the door open, ready to drag his friend out of there.

“Oh, John. I didn’t hear you coming.” Sherlock looked up relaxed.

The fact that he held something burning with pliers in his left and a Bunsen burner in his right hand with a pair of protective glasses on his face seemed to be no reason for him to worry.

“Sherlock?!” John gasped. “What- What the- ?!”

He did not know what to say first and then after a few seconds:

“For god’s sake! Put that fire out!”

“Just ten more seconds,” Sherlock replied calmly.

John groaned, but what else should he do? Sherlock turned around to the washbasin and put whatever the burning thing was inside. Immediately heavy smoke rose. Since Sherlock did not seem to care John opened a window and while doing so he could not resist but take a peak at what Sherlock had worked on.

“Have you- ?”

He took a closer look.

“Is that one of my jumpers?!” he called out.

“Of course,” Sherlock answered quite naturally while he put away his experiment equipment. “You forgot it when you moved out. I found it in your bedroom and it perfectly suited my planned research.”

John had wanted distraction, however this was simply ridiculous.

“You could have given it back to me,” he said keeping his anger down.

Sherlock, as always, ignored that statement.

“So, let me guess,” John said while both of them went back into the living room. “You don’t have a case?”

“I’ve been away for two years and even in twenty-four months the whole criminal network of Great Britain has not managed it to figure out some decent threats, thefts, black mailings or murders.” Grumbling, Sherlock threw himself into an armchair. “I should’ve stayed on the continent.”

John scanned his best friend for a few seconds. The fact that Sherlock had played dead for two years without telling him had, by now, become a joke to the Consulting Detective. John was still not quite able to smile about the whole affair. Anyway, right now there were other things to talk about.

“Then it’s about time to find you a new case, shall we?”

John grabbed Sherlock’s laptop that lay on the little couch table. He clicked on _The Science of Deduction_ to take a look at some of the problems people had posted there.

“Do you think I would sit here if somebody had told me about a thrilling problem on my website?” Sherlock said scornfully and rolled himself up on the armchair in his blue dressing gown, drawing his legs up.

“No, don’t try to be optimistic about it, that’s too conventional!” John replied sarcastically while scrolling. “I’m sure we can find something. The game is back on and with a bit of luck we can chase some dangerous serial killer again.”

“Why would _you_ be so eager to solve a case now?” Slightly confused Sherlock turned his head towards John.

The doctor looked up to him and they stared at each other for a couple of seconds.

“Of course,” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“So after a row with ,your wife I’m now the one you go to so you can distract yourself or talk about your problems.”

John’s eyes widened.

“Now hang on! Everything is alright between me and-“

“The knuckles on your hand are still lightly coloured which means you have clenched your fists for quite a while and also very heavily, so there must have been something making you rather angry. By just one look at your shoes I can see that you hastily and nervously left your home because they look lazily tied. Even your jacket you were unable to button up correctly. Your hair looks messy as well which means you have ran your hands through it quite aggravated and heatedly while arguing. And I know that Mary is a good wife and I expect that she doesn’t normally allow you to go out in such a state so there must have been some difficulties between you before you left to come here. Am I wrong?”

A second of silence.

“No! No, you’re absolutely right!” John eventually said rather loudly. “Can we please move on now?”

Sherlock could not hide a little grin before he sighed again.

“Even the deductions didn’t become at least a bit more-“

A flash of light.

John and Sherlock blinked and turned their heads towards the entrance door of their flat.

“Sorry, guys,” a shy voice said. “Old family habit.”

The young man put the camera back into the pocket of his somewhat too large yet quite stylish jacket and walked warily into the living room.

“I came in with the house keeper she-“

“Landlady,” John interrupted. “She likes to insist on that.”

Sherlock smiled, the man looked a bit nervous.

“Well, yeah, I came in with the landlady she told me to come up here. I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes…?”

Said detective rose from his armchair and positioned himself right in front of the man. He scanned him then walked around him while focusing him with his grey eyes.

“Your name?”

“Jabez Wilson,” the man replied quite timidly and looked at Sherlock with a worried expression.

“A young photographer recently returned from China working for the press with probably an old collection of photographs which by now are valuable quite a few thousand pounds,” Sherlock analysed, now facing Wilson again. “Okay, tell us your story. It could be rather interesting.”

He turned away and sat back into his armchair. Jabez Wilson stood there quite confused with his mouth open. Only after a few seconds he moved again and also slowly sat down into the armchair opposite Sherlock.

“I’ve heard that you’re a brilliant detective,” Wilson then said, laughing tensely. “But seriously: how can you possibly now all this stuff about me?”

“I’ll tell you,” Sherlock replied. “Although this time it’s so easy that even John could have made this deduction.”

John rolled his eyes.

“There are marks on your forearm from the edge of a desk which means you are typing a lot and in a hurry because of facing a deadline. Given the fact that you brought your camera despite knowing you’d come to see me, and since you photographed even the two of us implies you have your camera with you all the time, so you are probably a photographer for a newspaper or suchlike. And by saying _“Old family habit.”_ you already give someone like me the perfect hint to draw the conclusion that you also belong to an old family of photographers who must have valuable old photographs if I look at the state of your clothes and handmade shoes.”

Because Wilson could only stare, still with his mouth open, John was the one to continue the conversation.

“How do you know that he was recently in China?”

“The model of the camera,” Sherlock pointed out. “Brand new and has by now only been shown and made available to the public at a fair in China.”

He looked back at Jabez Wilson for the photographer seemed to be a bit lost in all those mountains of conclusions.

“What happened to you, Mr Wilson?” John asked.

Wilson had to concentrate for a few seconds then he began to tell his story:

“As you’ve already correctly deduced Mr Holmes I belong to a family that has been in the business of photography since the beginning of the Victorian age. Back then it all started with the first ever cameras and my ancestor Charles Wilson was the first of my family who took photographs for a living.”

“Yes, that is what I already deduced five minutes ago,” Sherlock interrupted drily. “What is it that has brought you here?”

“My family has existed without a gap until this day,” Wilson continued with a quiet voice. “But a few days ago my father died.”

He paused.

“So?” Sherlock shrugged.

“Was there something strange about the death of your father?” John asked.

Wilson nodded and then continued slowly.

“Well, it looks to everybody like a tragic car accident, but I know better.” He swallowed. “Because for many years now the heads of our family have died under strange circumstances or in accidents.” Wilson said, looking to the ground. “And now that my father is dead I fear for my own life.”

There was a lingering moment of silence. Sherlock put his fingertips together and leaned forward.

“Interesting,” he said quite calmly.

“But this means,” John stated in slight disbelief, “That there must be a group of people that has been observing and keeping an eye on your family for about 150 years!”

“An old war between families and one of them doesn’t even know why,” Sherlock added with the sound of fascination in his voice as a smile appeared on his face.

“Well, actually I have a hunch why.”

Sherlock and John immediately looked at the young man.

“The oldest photographs our family still has are three from the year 1897,” Wilson explained. “This means they’re worth a lot of money. My father and also my grandfather were always very careful when it came to those pictures and they never gave them away for an exhibition or anything like that. My father told me that they’re very important to our family, but he never told me what exactly is so special about them. He said he would tell me when I’m older.”

Wilson’s look got lost in old memories. Sherlock and John exchanged some glances and luckily John could see that this was going to be a case Sherlock was willing to take.

“Do you have the photographs with you?” John asked.

“At first I was afraid to take them with me,” Wilson replied and put a hand into the briefcase he had brought with him. “But a detective needs something to work with, doesn’t he? I made copies.”

He gave a forced smile before handing the two men a transparent envelope.

Sherlock and John took a close look at the three 117 year old photographs. They were pictures taken in the heart of London.

“That’s the street in front of the Royal Exchange!” John recognised on the first picture. “And the other two show the Bank of England if I’m correct.”

Jabez Wilson nodded encouragingly..

“Were those photos all taken on the same day?” Sherlock asked.

“The first two, yes. The last one was taken the day after.”

Quickly Sherlock’s look flew over the pictures, scanning them with a thoughtful expression. Then he smiled and eventually chuckled before he looked up at Wilson again.

“Thank you, Mr Wilson, for finally giving me a case worth solving,” he said happily. “John will call Scotland Yard so they can bring you home safely and we will take care of your problem.”

The moment he finished speaking he jumped of his armchair, grabbing the photographs, already going through all kinds of deductions and scenarios, while John got out his phone with a sigh and cautiously accompanied Wilson, who had watched Sherlock with a very concerned expression, to the door.


End file.
